Chapter 35
35
Standing outside Andrea’s family’s restaurant, I take a moment to gather my thoughts. The welcome glow of the restaurant’s lights spills onto the pavement, beckoning me inside, like I’m some kind of moth.
I take a deep breath and attempt to give myself a pep talk before I head over, because now that I’m here, I’m nervous.
I feel empowered too, standing here on my own, taking my life into my own hands, doing what I want to do, what will make me happy. I know that my happiness lies with Andrea, for sure now, and even if he’s going to LA, well, we’ll cross that ocean when we come to it.
Right now, all that matters is celebrating Nonna’s birthday and being with Andrea and his family. Yes, I’ve pretty much abandoned my job – and probably my career – but I did it all for a boy.
Oh, God, I did it all for a boy.
No, no, it’s not like that. I did it all for love. Doing it for a boy sounds stupid; doing it for love sounds impossibly romantic.
I have a whole plan. I know I need to make it up to Andrea for seemingly dismissing his hundred-year-old nonna ’s birthday party, and then very really dumping him by using what was supposed to be my pretend way of pretend-dumping him.
So, I’m here, and I got here all on my own, in a taxi with a driver who didn’t speak a word of English. I should learn the language properly at some point, I know, but for now I’m relying on an online translator. And so far, it seems to be working a charm.
Okay, here we go, let’s do this.
With a newfound surge of confidence, I stroll across the road. By the time I reach the middle, I narrowly avoid being taken out by a Fiat 500, but I’m okay, and I refuse to let it rattle me.
As I approach the restaurant, I notice that it’s even more crowded than the last time I visited. Everyone is here for Nonna. Isn’t that amazing? I can only dream of living to such an amazing age and still having so many people who give a shit about me – I don’t have even close to this many people who give a shit about me now!
Two long tables are laid out with (what I can only describe as) an intense buffet that, truthfully, was probably worth quitting my job over alone. The aroma of delicious Italian food carries through the air, activating my hunger – which is usually impossible when I’m nervous.
Chairs are spread out in clusters, and there’s even a space that looks like a makeshift dance floor, because of course there is. I love that everyone is so into singing and dancing. It makes everyone seem so happy. I briefly wonder if I’ve ever seen my own parents sing and dance. My mum used to sing in the car when I was younger, but the closest my dad ever came to dancing was probably that time he stepped on a rake in the garden. I’m not sure that one counts.
Suddenly I notice Andrea, sitting in a large group with his nonna , his parents, Lucia and Dario, his auntie and uncle, and a couple of cousins. He’s animatedly telling them a story, his smile wide and infectious. His hands move almost as much as his lips as he talks to them.
Okay, Robin, you can do this. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. It’s time to make things right.
I walk up to them, clutching my phone tightly in my hand, the notes app open and ready to go.
Lucia’s eyes light up with excitement as she notices me.
‘Robin!’ she practically sings.
Andrea turns to look at me, surprise flickering across his features for a split second before it makes way for a warm smile instead.
‘Robin, what are you doing here?’ he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern and delight. ‘I thought you couldn’t come.’
I raise my hand, gesturing for him to pause, needing a moment to gather my thoughts. Then, I glance down at my phone, where I’ve painstakingly typed out the words I want to say to him in Italian – with the help of a trusty online translator. I’m terrified, and I’m probably going to butcher it, but I just hope that the thought behind my grand gesture will be what counts.
I take another deep breath, then another, summoning all my courage, so that I can read what it says on my phone.
In English, what I am basically saying is that Andrea has been such a significant part of my life for so long, and I’m talking about how much he and his family mean to me, and promising to always be there for him. And then finally…
‘ Sono molto arrapata di avere più ani con te ,’ I conclude.
With a surprising sense of accomplishment, I slip my phone back into my pocket and look up, expecting to see touched expressions, perhaps even tears of joy here and there.
What I get instead is an eruption of laughter.
Even Andrea can’t contain his amusement, despite his efforts to stifle his laughter. With a hand over his mouth, he guides me into another room.
As we step into the empty restaurant kitchen, I can feel my cheeks growing redder by the second. Thankfully there is no one else in here, because the food is already out.
‘I’m hoping you’re going to tell me that they weren’t laughing at me, but somehow, I feel like I might have been the butt of that joke,’ I admit, cringing.
But instead of the reassurance that I’m craving, Andrea’s laughter only grows louder. This can’t be good.
‘Oh, Robin, I’m so sorry,’ Andrea says between fits of laughter, ‘because it was so incredible of you to speak Italian to me. Thank you so much for trying, it just wasn’t quite right, which was a little bit funny, but that’s not what is important.’
I wince at his words.
‘I used an online translator, so I wasn’t expecting it to be perfect, but how bad can it be?’ I ask, once again hoping for reassurance.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Andrea insists, and yet he’s still laughing .
‘I’ll only wonder,’ I point out, unable to shake off the unease of not knowing exactly what I just said. ‘Honestly, I would rather know.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Andrea gives in. ‘So, when you say “ Sono molto arrapata ”…’
Oh my God, he’s laughing again.
‘I’m very excited,’ I say.
Andrea smiles as he shakes his head.
‘“ Sono molto arrapata ” means “I am very horny”,’ he points out.
‘Oh, boy,’ I blurt. ‘That’s not good, is it.’
‘And the rest…’ Andrea starts, still really struggling to contain his laughter. ‘“… avere più ani con te ”.’
‘To have more years with you,’ I confirm, although, given his response, I’m not sure I’m confirming anything.
What I was supposed to be saying is: ‘I am very excited to have more years with you.’
Andrea shakes his head again.
‘ Anni means years,’ he corrects me. ‘ Ani means… Ani means…’
He can’t even say it.
‘ Ani means anuses,’ he eventually blurts out.
‘Noooo,’ I reply, unable to contain my horror. ‘No, no, no. Tell me I didn’t!’
‘I’m sorry, Robin. It’s the gesture that is important, not what you said,’ Andrea insists, his laughter subsiding. ‘Please, come here.’
Andrea holds out his arms, offering me a comforting hug. I gratefully accept, burying my face in his chest, feeling safe and secure – but still mortified.
‘I thought you were doing your pitch this evening,’ Andrea says, his tone shifting to concern.
‘Oh, I’ve shagged it,’ I say simply.
Andrea laughs again, clearly amused by my choice of words – I’m guessing he hasn’t heard that word used like that before.
‘I’ve blown it,’ I clarify, making myself clearer. ‘Willingly, though. I just thought, you know what, it’s just a job. I would rather be here, with you and your family. I know that none of it was real, this past week, but I don’t know, I feel like I’m part of this. I feel like I should be here.’
Andrea isn’t laughing now.
‘Robin, we might not have been honest with other people, about how we met, or what we were to each other, but we were always honest with each other. Everything we’ve done together this week has been real,’ Andrea points out.
I know that he’s right.
‘I know,’ I reply, feeling a surge of emotion that I try to keep a lid on, so that I can explain myself. ‘And I’ve loved absolutely every minute I have spent with you, and your family, and my priorities have been all wrong, but I’m here now, and I’ve given it all up, and I guess the only thing I can remember how to say is “ ti amo ” – which might be a bit strong but, I don’t know, even if it’s just as friends, to start with… Ti amo .’
As Andrea smiles, his eyes seem to soften.
‘ Anch’io ti amo ,’ he replies, pulling me into his arms once again.
‘And look, I know you’re probably going to LA, and I’m not here to stop you,’ I insist, a hint of sadness creeping into my voice. ‘But I just hope that, whatever happens, we can figure something out.’
‘The thing about LA is that… I shagged it,’ Andrea says, chuckling to himself as he uses my own choice of words.
‘What?’ I squeak. I wasn’t expecting him to say that.
Andrea gives me what I’m going to start calling one of his extremely Italian shrugs.
‘It’s just a job,’ he explains, echoing my earlier sentiments.
‘It’s your dream job,’ I remind him. ‘It could have been the start of something big for you.’
‘ You’re the start of something big for me,’ he corrects me, his gaze unwavering. ‘Everything begins and ends with you. You were the one who used to encourage me to follow my dreams, back when we used to send our letters. Forget my dream job. I want my dream girl.’
As I smile, I can practically feel my emotions swirling around inside my face, looking for a way out.
‘All week, I have felt like you are mine,’ Andrea tells me. ‘I wasn’t pretending.’
‘Neither was I,’ I insist. ‘From now on, I want to be open and honest about everything – except… do you have my ring?’
Andrea chuckles at my choice of words, and his laughter is like music to my ears.
‘I have it here,’ he tells me.
‘I would like to wear it, if you don’t mind,’ I say. ‘I know we need to take things slow, and figure it all out, but I don’t think anyone noticed that I wasn’t wearing it in there before – they were too distracted by me saying I was very horny for… Oh, God, I can’t even think about it – and I know that we said no more pretending, but let’s not let tonight be about anything but Nonna.’
‘No, no more pretending,’ Andrea replies.
He rummages around in his pocket and pulls out the ring. Then, with a playful grin, he gets down on one knee.
‘Robin, will you… one day… if we’re still together… and you actually want to… but not today… but some day… maybe… marry me?’ he asks, his words filled with both humour and love.
‘Well, when you put it like that, I will,’ I reply through a laugh.
Andrea laughs too as he places the ring on my finger. Then, with a tender touch, he stands up, pulls me close, and kisses me passionately.
‘Right, let’s get back out there and party, before I totally lose my nerve,’ I tell him when I come up for air. ‘Can you apologise to everyone for me?’
‘You just say mi dispiace , to everyone , one at a time,’ he jokes. ‘ Mi dispiace , mi dispiace , mi dispiace .’
‘Oh my gosh, is that supposed to be my voice?’ I reply.
‘Maybe,’ he replies with a smirk. ‘Come on, let’s go party.’
Andrea takes me by the hand and leads me back out into the restaurant.
I’m mortified (and that is putting it lightly) over what I said – of course I am – but with Andrea, I can face it. I can face anything.